Was I Worse Off?
by AbhorsenSabriel87
Summary: What if Mrs. Lovett had managed to throw Lucy in the furnace before Sweeney had come to her rescue? And... what if he still discovered her lie? AU, slightly paranormal. Warnings given in chapter. ONE-SHOT


What would have happened had Mrs. Lovett been able to cast Lucy into the fire before Todd came down to investigate her scream? And what if, some how, he still found out? This is what I aim to find out, readers.

Disclaimer: I do not own Sweeney Todd or anything of the like.

Note/Warning: This is definitely AU, and slightly paranormal. (Trust me, you'll see.) Rape warning, as well as gore.

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Finally, it was done. That blasted woman, who stood in her way for so many years, was gone. Killed by her own husband's hand, actually. She wondered briefly if Mr. Todd knew the nature of the crazy beggar woman whose throat he had so mercilessly slit, but decided against it just as swiftly. He couldn't have; he'd done everything for "his Lucy". He could never have willingly - no, _knowingly_ - killed her.

She was just lucky to get the wretch into the furnace before Mr. Todd came into the basement. He'd heard her scream, and like the gentleman he was rushed in to help her. She was actually quite humbled by the experience; Mr. Todd had never shown any real care towards her. Every "loving" comment he'd made seemed strangely sarcastic, almost sneering. Though, this time, his concern seemed genuine. Unfortunately, they never found Toby, and the lad that had been in the barber shop had fled long before they were able to return upstairs.

Ah well. All's well that ends it. With the judge and his beadle dead (as well as that God-forsaken wench he called his wife), there was little worry or care about this whole matter. So long as she found Toby, she may be able to convince him that all the killing was done - that Mr. Todd was not as evil as he thought. The poor dear just needed some care, that's all. Maybe… maybe they might have a life like she wanted. She'd saved up every penny they'd earned; maybe she'd have enough to move them to a cottage further south, by the English Channel. Or maybe Ireland - now that she thought about it, that was a supposedly beautiful place, too. And no one could possibly recognize them there.

Still, she felt restless. Something hadn't felt right after a while. Though it was only a single night after the Judge had disappeared, people were starting to wonder. Fortunately, the man was hated enough that no one seemed to _really_ care, but it was unsettling nonetheless. Well, she'd continue her pies until she ran out of the meat, then she'd move them elsewhere. No use staying in a place full of such horrid memories.

So, she tucked in that night, humming to herself a sweet little tune. Toby had once told her the other day that he wouldn't let any harm come to her, and in that moment more than any other had he felt like a son to her. She hadn't meant it to happen. She knew that if anything happened, Toby would be the first to suspect and Mr. Todd would want the poor dear's throat bared for a slashing. But she couldn't help it; she just wanted… Even she didn't know. Maybe it was a family, maybe… who knows…

Turning out the light with care, she shifted under the thin quilt to straighten out the even thinner nightdress she wore to bed. It always seemed to get tangled, no matter _what_ she did. Every morning, there it was hefted up to her hips. What a sorry sight, should Mr. Todd ever come in and fine her that way - dressed only in thin cotton, blanket strewn across the floor and tangled in her long legs. (Too long, she hated to admit, though she supposed it was better than being short and squat like Mrs. Mooney.) It made her flush and cringe shyly at the thought for a moment, but she knew that if Mr. Todd could have been enticed by that…

Blushing hotly, she shifted once more and gave up, lying back on her pillow and staring at the water-stained ceiling. She hated the fact that she knew it… but Mr. Todd would never love her, no matter what he said or she wanted to believe. His heart was broken and cold, and nothing she do could warm or heal it again. He may have had vengeance, but he was still the same lost and tortured soul that came back after those fifteen years away. All she could hope was that he never knew what had really happened in that basement. In the heat of the moment, he seemed to forget the beggar woman that he had slain. He didn't even question where she had gone - a surprising thing, considering he took note of everything, it seemed.

Ah, the poor dear. He'd only rushed right back out the door, stalking into the night after cleaning himself up. She tried to ask where he was going, but he said nothing, just walked away… She hoped in her heart that he wasn't trying to find Toby, but…

The doorbell jangled, marking someone entering through the shop doors. Nellie smiled in relief - it had to be Mr. Todd, finally returned. He was the only one who had a key to the shop besides her, and she'd made quite sure to lock up tight after closing. Content with the fact hat he'd finally come back home, she snuggled deeper into her blanket, trying to catch that often fleeting warmth in order to drift off to sleep. Tomorrow was another day and she needed even the most uncomfortable of sleep in order to be ready for it.

Much to her surprise, however, the door to her room in the back creaked open. Confused, the woman shifted again, feeling the shift in fabric around her legs as she rolled over to see who had entered her room. Shrouded in darkness was a figure she knew all too well, only his legs dressed in pinstriped navy clearly illuminated by the moonlight entering from the shutterless window by the door. The glint of silver normally found in his right hand was absent, so she felt a certain settling to her unease. Still, she couldn't fathom why he would be here at her bedroom door in the middle of the night after being gone for a whole day.

"Mr. Todd, is that you?" she asked sleepily, squinting a bit to try and make out more of the shadowed features. She couldn't see anything at all, though that was typical; the house was abysmally dark, even during the day.

"Of course, Mrs. Lovett." She knew that husky whisper anywhere, and yet her blood turned cold. There was such deep fury in that voice, a cold and unrelenting anger that she'd heard so rarely before. "Did you expect any other?"

"N-no, Mr. T," she stammered, sitting up further and resting her hands in her lap, covertly clutching the blanket as hard as she could. "Wot's the matter, love? Where 'ave you been?"

"I was fixing loose ends, _dearest_," he answered scathingly. "All I have left now on my list is you."

Her eyes widened; her breath stopped. Did he know? How!? "Wot do you mean by that, Mr. Todd?" she laughed nervously. "I've just been 'ere trying to 'elp you. You know that."

"Oh yes, Mrs. Lovett, I know that." Boot heels clicking on the bare floor, he stalked further into the light to show his shirt ripped and bloodied, his vest wide open with the buttons completely torn off. His sleeves were shredded and dyed red, his face cold and shadowed even in the stark paleness of his skin. His eyes gleamed darkly, reflecting an unknown fire as he advanced on her. "I know that you hid the evidence from me, my dear. You didn't want me to know that Lucy was still alive, did you? Or that I, _with my own hands_, KILLED MY WIFE!"

The shout of rage was the last thing she needed to hear before she realized that he would kill her there with his bare hands. Terrified, she scrambled to get out of the blanket and out of bed, but he was there in a second, wrenching her back by her frizzy red hair. With a cry of surprise, pain, and fear, she fell back onto the bed, pushed into place by a set of strong hands. "P-please, Mr. Todd, I-I didn't-" she started, struggling to get away as tears formed in her eyes. He would kill her right now; all her hopes for a better future dashed and her thoughts forming solely on the very obvious fact present.

Mr. Todd was going to kill her.

"Oh, yes, Mrs. Lovett, I know _exactly_ what you meant," he murmured, that hellish gleam completely transparent in his dark eyes. "You said she was lost, not dead, is that right? Well, I can see why you said that, my _dear_ Nellie."

"I just… I wanted to protect you…" she sobbed, staring up at him with tear-filled eyes. "I knew she would nev'r be the same ag'in. I swear I didn' mean any 'arm!" She prayed that he would believe her, that he would forgive her. "I knew she woul'nt be that same si'ly li'l thing you left behin', so I didn't tell you. I'm sorry, Mr. Todd!"

"No, you're not sorry," he whispered. "Not yet." Once more cold and impassive, he leaned in close, enough so that she could see the cold fury even in the shadow of the room. "You wanted my touch, Mrs. Lovett?" he murmured darkly. "Well, have it, then!"

With a short scream, the woman tried to kick and squirm out of the way, but the barber pinned her with ease, forcing both hands back with only one of his own. Tearing away the blanket, he caught her ankle and forced it down as she tried to kick him off. Shrieking and pleading, crying and cursing… he dealt with it all with the impassiveness of an executioner as he forced her legs apart. His knees almost crushed her own as he knelt to keep them still, unbuckling his belt with the same dexterity he used to slit the throats of his victims.

"P-please, Mr. Todd, don' do this," she sobbed. "I'm sorry, Mr. T, I'm sorry!"

"You brought this only on yourself, my _dear_ Nellie." And without a warning or caring hand, he overtook her, tearing away every defense and bit of trust she had. He cared not for her safety; in fact, he relished in making her sob and cry out in pain, at every time his hands bruised her skin or his nails drew blood. Wave upon wave of pleasure-pain hit her as he took her, the latter completely overwhelming the former with his contempt. Even still, she continued to cry the same thing, no matter what he did.

"Please, Mr. Todd… I'm sorry."

Eventually, it seemed as if he'd had enough of her apologies and pleas for mercy. Taking her pale jaw in his bloodied hands, he turned her head to the window. "You don't deserve their deaths, Mrs. Lovett," he growled. "You deserve something much slower. And _far_ more painful." With a flash of pain, she cried out again - these penetrations were too much for her. She knew what he was now, what monster he'd become.

She knew he'd never left the house in true daylight. Then again, when did London ever have it? The marks on the men he killed were obvious; even though he slit their throats, he obviously had to latch on in order to take what he wanted.

She never believed vampires were real. Not until Mr. Sweeney Todd took his second life of his killing career.

And, somehow, she knew she was going to be his last. Even as she felt her life draining from her with every gulp of liquid from her throat, she knew that someone was going to stop him. _That someone always __**would**__ stop him_. Shadows encroached further into her vision as the pain began to dull. She felt cold, as if he'd thrown her out in the rain in January to freeze to death. She was a mess of pain and blood when he stood from her, finally sated as his eyes gleamed unholy red. She could barely see him, her vision resting past him at the open door behind him.

"I would advise next time, Mrs. Lovett, to be careful what you wish for." His voice seemed muffled as her deteriorating eyesight caught a flash of silver in the doorway. A small shape she knew well cloaked in darkness snuck upon them as the barber fixed himself right again. _Toby…Stay away, Toby…_She couldn't speak, couldn't blink or warn him in any way what the person he was sneaking up on really was.

Strangely, Todd didn't seem to notice the boy at all as he rolled up what remained of his sleeves. With a flash, the shape came from behind and stabbed the man in the back. Todd stood stark still for a moment, surprise on his features as he fell to one knee. _Oh God no, Toby…Don't damn yourself for me, love…_ Nellie was still crying, even though she had no more liquid left to give and could no longer made her sobs heard. With a howl of rage, the smaller shadow wrenched the razor from Todd's back and stabbed him. Over, and over, and over again. She lived long enough to see the barber bleeding to death on the floor, the final blow of the razor forever embedded into the back of his neck, the man she thought she loved. Panting in the exertion it took to kill the man, the boy collapsed into view, moonlight shining on his bloody body. By the look of it, Todd had found him, then discovered somehow what happened to his wife. Poor boy… now he really _was_ all alone…

The last thing Nellie Lovett saw was the boy she saw as her son seeing her with terror-stricken eyes, the last sound being his wail of despair.

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Well, it's dark, but I had the urge to write it. --smiles sadly-- Some things need to get out in the open, while others… are perhaps left untouched.


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